Read Online Embrace the Wild Land by Rosanne Bittner - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Rosanne Bittner
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as Blade lay writhing for a moment before his body finally went still in death.
“Damn!” someone muttered.
Zeke spit out his end of the leather strap and walked up to Blade, wiping blood from his own knife onto Blade’s pants, then shoving the weapon into its sheath. He turned to face his Cheyenne brother, Black Elk, who grinned; then he faced his son, seeing the relief on Wolf’s Blood’s face and the love in his eyes. Zeke raised his free arm and let out a Cheyenne yell of victory, and the rest of the Indians suddenly broke into howls and cheers, while Wolf’s Blood ran up to hug his father. The boy quickly began untying the strap that held Zeke’s left arm, while the Indians began collecting on their bets and making new bets on the horse races that would take place the next day.
“Father, you are hurt!” Wolf’s Blood was lamenting.
“The only bad one is my arm,” Zeke replied. “Tie that strap around above the cut, Wolf’s Blood. Get the circulation stopped until Abbie can pour some whiskey in there and wrap it good and tight. The other two are just surface cuts.”
Their eyes held, and the noise of the crowd seemed far away as they looked at each other lovingly. “I am glad you are all right, Father,” the boy told Zeke. “I hope one day I will be as great a warrior.”
Zeke nodded. “You will, son. You’ll be better.”
“I will try.”
Zeke put an arm around his shoulders. “I need to go back and rest. Tonight I’ll collect for the Appaloosas I sold. Tomorrow are the horse races, then we head for Santa Fe before we go home. I want to bring your mother to the Navaho camp tonight to trade for some of those blankets she’s been wanting, the ones with all the colors in them.”
“She will like that. Right now she will be worried, though. You should hurry and tell her you are all right.” He quickly secured the strap around his father’s arm to slow the bleeding.
They walked toward the Cheyenne camp, Zeke’s wounds stinging and his arm beginning to ache fiercely. But he would hide the pain as much as possible for Abbie’s sake. Their progression was slow, as Indians and even some soldiers stopped Zeke to congratulate him and offer him whiskey. Zeke ignored most of them, wanting only to get back to Abbie and assure her he was not badly wounded.
It was several hundred yards to the camp. In the distance Zeke could see children playing, and Abbie’s plump and faithful friend, Tall Grass Woman, waved at them, letting out a screech of joy at the sight of Zeke returning. Several Cheyenne men were quickly following them, cheering about the great knife warrior, Black Elk leading them, relieved that his half-brother had not been badly hurt. There would be much dancing and celebrating and feasting that night. The Cheyenne who were present would take advantage of the moment to forget about the illegal Treaty of Fort Wise and the fact that they were now expected to survive within a chokingly small piece of land the Great White Father claimed was all they had left. They would forget the fact that often some of them were shot on sight by settlersfor no reason. They would forget that when just one of them disobeyed the Great White Father, all of them were punished. This was not a time for dwelling on deprivation and disease. It was a time for celebration, time for the annual trading and betting and horse races at Fort Lyon a time to enjoy their women and to enjoy the warmth of the autumn sun before it stopped giving off enough heat to keep away the bitter winter snows.
Abbie emerged from her
tipi
. Her eyes locked onto Zeke’s, and he instantly sensed something wrong, something more than the fact that he’d been in a fight and wounded. Her eyes dropped quickly, too quickly. He could see her shaking even from the distance. He walked faster, quickly enveloping her in his arms while the rest of the men joked about the victorious warrior enjoying his woman that night as part of his prize. There was
“Damn!” someone muttered.
Zeke spit out his end of the leather strap and walked up to Blade, wiping blood from his own knife onto Blade’s pants, then shoving the weapon into its sheath. He turned to face his Cheyenne brother, Black Elk, who grinned; then he faced his son, seeing the relief on Wolf’s Blood’s face and the love in his eyes. Zeke raised his free arm and let out a Cheyenne yell of victory, and the rest of the Indians suddenly broke into howls and cheers, while Wolf’s Blood ran up to hug his father. The boy quickly began untying the strap that held Zeke’s left arm, while the Indians began collecting on their bets and making new bets on the horse races that would take place the next day.
“Father, you are hurt!” Wolf’s Blood was lamenting.
“The only bad one is my arm,” Zeke replied. “Tie that strap around above the cut, Wolf’s Blood. Get the circulation stopped until Abbie can pour some whiskey in there and wrap it good and tight. The other two are just surface cuts.”
Their eyes held, and the noise of the crowd seemed far away as they looked at each other lovingly. “I am glad you are all right, Father,” the boy told Zeke. “I hope one day I will be as great a warrior.”
Zeke nodded. “You will, son. You’ll be better.”
“I will try.”
Zeke put an arm around his shoulders. “I need to go back and rest. Tonight I’ll collect for the Appaloosas I sold. Tomorrow are the horse races, then we head for Santa Fe before we go home. I want to bring your mother to the Navaho camp tonight to trade for some of those blankets she’s been wanting, the ones with all the colors in them.”
“She will like that. Right now she will be worried, though. You should hurry and tell her you are all right.” He quickly secured the strap around his father’s arm to slow the bleeding.
They walked toward the Cheyenne camp, Zeke’s wounds stinging and his arm beginning to ache fiercely. But he would hide the pain as much as possible for Abbie’s sake. Their progression was slow, as Indians and even some soldiers stopped Zeke to congratulate him and offer him whiskey. Zeke ignored most of them, wanting only to get back to Abbie and assure her he was not badly wounded.
It was several hundred yards to the camp. In the distance Zeke could see children playing, and Abbie’s plump and faithful friend, Tall Grass Woman, waved at them, letting out a screech of joy at the sight of Zeke returning. Several Cheyenne men were quickly following them, cheering about the great knife warrior, Black Elk leading them, relieved that his half-brother had not been badly hurt. There would be much dancing and celebrating and feasting that night. The Cheyenne who were present would take advantage of the moment to forget about the illegal Treaty of Fort Wise and the fact that they were now expected to survive within a chokingly small piece of land the Great White Father claimed was all they had left. They would forget the fact that often some of them were shot on sight by settlersfor no reason. They would forget that when just one of them disobeyed the Great White Father, all of them were punished. This was not a time for dwelling on deprivation and disease. It was a time for celebration, time for the annual trading and betting and horse races at Fort Lyon a time to enjoy their women and to enjoy the warmth of the autumn sun before it stopped giving off enough heat to keep away the bitter winter snows.
Abbie emerged from her
tipi
. Her eyes locked onto Zeke’s, and he instantly sensed something wrong, something more than the fact that he’d been in a fight and wounded. Her eyes dropped quickly, too quickly. He could see her shaking even from the distance. He walked faster, quickly enveloping her in his arms while the rest of the men joked about the victorious warrior enjoying his woman that night as part of his prize. There was
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